


Fear and Loathing in Hosnian Prime

by acaramelmacchiato



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amidala Kylo Ren, Ben Solo never turns to the dark side instead he turns to politics, Kylo Ren eating oysters is unbearable, Lobbyist Hux, M/M, Senator Ben Solo, the first order is not great at intelligence gathering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/pseuds/acaramelmacchiato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Hux is dispatched to Hosnian Prime to try to convince maverick senator Ben Solo of Naboo to give one of the First Order's fake charity fundraising organizations tax-exempt status. To do this, he must play his part in one of the Republic's oldest political traditions: Lobbying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear and Loathing in Hosnian Prime

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired, as everything, at its deepest level is inspired, by valinwhore's [Kylo Amidala artwork](http://valinwhore.tumblr.com/post/141931697132/me-myself-you-cannot-be-serious-i-am-in-fact). Instead of a treaty I decided to write a Bad Lobbyist AU because I ruin everything I touch.

Senator Ben Solo was exactly what Hux expected. He had held no political office prior to his unopposed bid for the Galactic Senate, and even as a junior senator he sat on three committees. His mother was Leia Organa, he was young, soft-spoken and decisive. More than that, he was an active listener, extremely vain, and had the thick, willful hair that was so important to the hierarchy of political discourse in the Republic. Together, these qualities made him the perfect legislator.

On the planet he represented, he was also royalty, and so as a gesture of welcome he extended his bare hand to Hux, who knelt, keeping his eyes down to conceal his resentment, and kissed the back of his hand.

“Senator Solo,” he said, looking up. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Solo smiled. “Thanks. You can stand up, this isn’t Naboo. And thanks for rescheduling. I had to stay an extra eight hours, there was a concert benefitting the Resistance and -- you probably won’t believe this -- they wanted me to introduce the band.”

Hux reminded himself that to wage true warfare, one’s enemies must never know of one’s pride. “That sounds,” he said, and searched for a word that wasn’t ‘contemptible’ or a wordless scream, “amazing.”

“It really was,” Solo said, and then smiled again, distant but sincere. If he’d run opposed, he probably would have won. “So, you’re from -- I’m sorry, I really didn’t have a chance to look at my briefing on the way over.”

“The Orphans of Republican Demilitarization Efforts in the Rim. It’s a charity organization seeking nonprofit status in the Core.”

“O.R.D.E.R.,” said Solo, sounding out the acronym. The irises of his eyes were very dark, and he made steady eye contact when he spoke, which was certainly polite in some circles but which Hux found unrelenting.

“That was just how it ended up,” said Hux. “We needed to get ‘orphans’ in the front for pamphlets.”

“I understand,” said Solo, deliberately gracious. “Messaging is messaging. My campaign slogan was ‘Solo: Because Naboo Can’t Go It Alone.’ It’s never made sense to me.”

Hux laughed, hating him completely. “I remember that one. But you did win.”

“It helps not to have opponents. I have to apologize again, would you remind me your name?”

“General,” Hux began to say, and remembered a moment too late that he should have thought of a fake name. “General Hux. My parents were extremely eccentric,” he finished woodenly. He should have thought of a fake last name, too.

“Not too eccentric,” said Solo, “remember you’re talking to a man named Ben.”

An awkward silence descended. Hux cleared his throat. “Right,” he said.

Solo smiled, betraying no effort. “Did I hear we had reservations?”

The speedercade took them to one of the Senate District’s oldest restaurants. The walls were covered with holographs of famous legislators in the booths, and the bar was already filling up with groups of worried lobbyists and the senators they were paying for.

Solo ordered a type of Corellian brandy that was aged at the temperature of space, in oak-lined satellites orbiting Axxila III. Hux looked for the price under the pretense of perusing the menu. When he found it, he experienced a severe episode of arrhythmia.

“So. General Hux. Newly arrived from the Outer Rim, advocate for the underserved. What are your hobbies?” asked Ben Solo.

Hux’s hobbies were navigation and aeronomy. To relax he read classical military strategy criticism or pieces of investigative journalism finding administrative faults and corruptions in the Republic. To challenge himself he was working on a weapon that could wipe out the galaxy.

What he said was: “Oh, the usual. Music.”

“I admit I’m surprised to hear that you’re interested in the arts,” said Solo, trying to soften his haughty remark with a self-deprecating laugh. It was shockingly effective.

“The Rim isn’t all moisture farms, incest, and brewing liquor in our old spaceship radiators.”

“Oh,” said Solo. Then: “So do you not want the Saffalorian white lightning I ordered for you?”

Hux frowned, and looked at the menu. It was by far the least expensive drink.

“No,” he said. “I admit I would appreciate one of the comforts of home right now. Hosnian Prime is so --”

“Overwhelming. I know exactly what you mean,” said Solo. “I felt exactly as you do the first time I came to Hosnian Prime -- that there was no way one planet could support this much life. But now, I admit I love it more than a senator should. Don't tell my constituents.”

The word Hux had been thinking of was “degenerate.”  

Solo was dressed in the classical style of the Old Republic, all the wealth of Naboo demonstrated in his clothing for those who could not see it implied in his posture. When a waiter brought them two dozen Mon Cala oysters without being asked, that wealth was made hideously explicit. He smiled again as he loosened one with a fork, and when he lifted it to his lips Hux looked away.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Solo said. “Why won’t I just get down to business? The truth is, if you don’t mix business with pleasure, you find yourself accomplishing very little of either, and charity will lose its shine very quickly.”

“So what do you recommend?”

“Get to know me. You will find it useful, in the future.”

When the oysters were finished, Hux had not found it useful. Instead, he learned that Ben Solo had specific tastes in music but would not reveal what he didn’t like, insisted that Naboo was the most beautiful place in the galaxy but did not vacation there, and had installed a private gym in his office because his attendance in the senate weight room had caused disruptions that threatened the dignity of his office.

“Now, tell me about the Many Orphans of Tatooine.”

“The Orphans of Republican Demilitarization Efforts in the Rim,” Hux corrected him.

“Something I really wish you had thought twice about.”

“You said you didn’t question messaging.”

“That was when we’d just met,” said Solo with ruthlessly political logic. “Now we are friends, so I’ll tell you what I think.”

Hux was strongly compelled to do the same. “I appreciate it,” he said instead.

“I have a lot of commitments in this session. Some of them even to orphans -- especially when those orphans benefit from inflammable clothing fibers, lead-free eyeglasses, seatbelt restrictions on light-speed transportation, and Kashyyyk obtaining rights of first refusal on egg bids in school lunches.”

“I guarantee that my organization will help more people than eggs in Kashyyyk will.”

“Not _in_ Kashyyyk -- everywhere in the Republic, that’s what export rights are. And that type of comparison is, forgive me, typical of provincial ethics. Don’t forget that you’re seeking nothing nobler than tax exemption.”

Solo was exactly what he appeared -- a man who enjoyed being magnanimous but who was sensitive to the faintest criticism and wary of the least obligation. It was like the Republic, to elevate his type. Hux considered leaving, if he had offended Solo’s fragile self-importance beyond repair, but he had not yet paid.

“I’m sorry,” Hux said, knowing that Solo needed to feel superior if anything was to be accomplished. “Ignorance of the legislative process is probably typical of provincial ethics as well.”

“Education more than ethics,” said Solo with a gentle smile, swiftly appeased. “Now. I have the impression that there is a bit of a _regular crowd_ developing in this place, and it would be unprofessional of me to discuss the upcoming session without having consumed enough alcohol to justify a benign amount of corruption.”

“What,” said Hux.

Within three hours they were drinking rail kyrf on a rotating roof-deck and Solo was talking about his relationship with his parents.

“You think being a senator in the Galactic Senate would be good enough. And to almost anyone else, it would be. But when your mother is leading the Resistance -- you know, saving the galaxy -- there’s a different scale of achievement. And this isn’t even her first time saving the galaxy, which doubles the scale.”

Hux found empathy welling in him like blood from a wound. Everything in the galaxy was a shadow of what had come before them, a generation marked by greatness, tragedy, and evil. They fought with theory now, equilibria and optimal stopping, and rarely came to the actual contest. It was the work of a general now to come hastily to Hosnian Prime and beg a senator for tax-exemption for a fake charity organization, simply because the First Order had found out the legislative calendar of the Republic too late. He closed his eyes and felt the room spin.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said sincerely.

“The odds were stacked from the start,” Solo said. The gold beads hanging from his hair caught a flashing light from the dance floor, “From the moment I was born, I had their love but never their respect. The expectations are endless. Exceed your peers. Exceed your instructors. Play sports, do charity, learn diplomacy, study law --”

“-- Become the emperor,” Hux said, understanding completely. He froze. Solo was staring at him. “I mean a senator,” he said.

Solo blinked. “Right. Become a senator. I’m just saying, it’s a lot.”

Hux leaned in, sensing his moment. No matter the circumstances, the principles of oratory and manipulation were absolute. They applied equally to legions of conditioned stormtroopers and mournfully drunk senators whose parents didn’t love them enough. “So leave the galaxy a better place than you found it. Make it remember you, and your good works. Start by attaching tax-exempt fundraising status to the Orphans of Demilitarization Efforts in the Rim to the upcoming omnibus spending bill.”

“That’s O.D.E.R.,” said Solo, and instead of being pricked to nobility he started laughing. “Like ‘odor.’ I told you the acronym was too long.”

“I misspoke,” said Hux. “But that doesn’t affect my sincerity.”

“I have some death sticks back at my place,” said Solo. “Since you brought up taxes.”

Solo’s penthouse in Republic City also had one of the best views of the city’s nightscape and did not rotate, which was a positive development. Hux had the vague impression that he had left the First Order’s illegally-obtained credit card at the bar, which was also a positive development as it was very likely to be declined.

“Do you want some water,” said Solo, suddenly leaning next to him on the balcony railing. There was very little wind on Hosnian Prime, but a gentle breeze was agitating Solo’s hair very attractively. “Or are you going to kiss me?”

Hux had not expected to jump through another hoop to reach the desired tax-exemption, but he was determined to see his task through to the end. He put his hand on the cool slubbed silk that concealed Solo’s warm, hard chest, and felt his heart beat in anticipation. He wanted this, he realized, artifice and circumstance aside, he wanted it because it was his duty and for reasons beyond that.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward.

Solo pushed him back with both hands on his shoulders. “Whoa!” he said. “Sorry, sorry, this is too weird. I didn’t think you actually _would_ , I thought you First Order people were all too repressed to actually kiss anyone on the -- you realize how close I came to _assassinating_ you?”

Hux stepped back. “What?” he said.

“If you actually did kiss me,” said Solo, “I was supposed to take advantage of your distraction and throw you off the balcony. But I was betting on you not doing it, because, you know, I  l ive here, and there’s really only so much you can ask of a good communications department when the city is scraping an enemy of the state off the sidewalk under your balcony.”

“What makes you say I am with the First Order?” said Hux cannily.

“O.R.D.E.R.,” said Solo. “We discussed that about five times. And it’s on a watch list. But mostly, I can use the Force to read minds, which is the first thing I did when I met you. And another thing, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure I  _ could _ throw anyone off my balcony. That’s a step away from getting thrown off a balcony myself.” 

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves everything, except why I couldn’t do the one thing I know would make my mother proud,” said Solo, pensively. “So are you going to call a sinister helispeeder to pick you up from the roof, or can I get you a cab?”

Hux considered the credit card he’d left behind at the bar, and checked the signal on his wristwatch datapad, which indicated a faint one bar of service. “We’ll meet again, Senator Solo,” he said, ambiguously.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a ton to say for myself. 
> 
> 1\. "Solo: Because Naboo Can’t Go It Alone" went down in Naboo's history as one of the most confusing senate campaigns ever run, especially since all of the ads were each 30 second spots of Ben Solo demonstrating bicep curls and deadlifts in a room featuring floor-to-ceiling portraits of his mother and grandmother. 
> 
> 2\. O.R.D.E.R continued to be too profitable to shut down after the issue of tax-exemption closed, so the First Order continued once again to pay a year's worth of income taxes to the Republic, very grudgingly. 
> 
> 3\. There is always, always, a powerful egg lobby.


End file.
